


a field of burning lavender

by SoDoRoses (FairyChess)



Series: Love and Other Fairytales [17]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Dubcon, Implied/Referenced Slavery, M/M, to instead have an emotional one, we take a break from the regularly scheduled physical and magical catastrophes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-26
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2020-02-04 18:54:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18610471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FairyChess/pseuds/SoDoRoses
Summary: It was always going to explode eventually.Here’s hoping the pieces still fit together.





	a field of burning lavender

**Author's Note:**

> title is from The Autopsy Speaks by Donte Collins

If Virgil was perturbed by the unfamiliar experience of riding in an open truck bed at 1 in the morning, he was doing a very good job of hiding it, in Roman’s opinion.

Logan was holding Patton in the cab of the truck with Mamaw, but there weren’t enough seats for all of them – and besides that, Virgil seemed like he wanted to be as far away from Mamaw as physically possible.

Virgil looked… not quite small, but wary. Cautious, like he’d come up on the edge of a cliff he hadn’t known was there. He ran his long fingers back and forth over the silvery cloak he held in his lap. He hadn’t spoken since they left Patton’s house.

They were both leaning up against the tailgate, and Roman felt like he should say or do  _something_  – but the foot of distance and the strained silence between them both seemed equally impassable.

Hesitantly, Roman turned his hand palm up, setting it on his knee. He saw Virgil’s eyes flick to it, though he didn’t turn his head.

Roman left it there, unobtrusive.

“Did you know?” rasped Virgil.

It took Roman a second to understand the question, but Virgil continued before Roman could respond.

“Is that why you kept coming back?”

“No,” said Roman, “I didn’t know. I never- I’d never even heard of a Greta,”

Virgil still hadn’t taken his eyes off of Roman’s outstretched hand.

“Then why?”

“…Why what?”

Virgil looked up then, pinning Roman in place with that intent stare.

“Why did you keep coming back?”

Roman swallowed.

_Because I was ten and thought I was in love with you. Because I WAS in love with you. Because you were alone and I couldn’t bear it, because I wanted you to know I was there, because I DO love you, because, because, because-_

“Because you’re my friend,” he said finally, “You always have been,”

He cracked a nervous smile.

“Even if you are a little pricklier awake,”

Virgil’s expression didn’t change for a long moment, and then the corner of his mouth pulled up, just a little.

“Ass,” he said fondly, and before Roman could protest Virgil had laced their fingers together. Roman’s train of thought instantly derailed.

He was rescued from the awkwardness of having to come up with a non-ridiculous response while embarrassingly flustered by the sight of his own house. The truck – shockingly intact, after being used as a battering ram – rattled to a stop.

Mamaw climbed out, closely followed by Dizzy, who was still alternately ignoring Roman and hissing petulantly when he got close to her. Logan slipped out the other side, a groggy and slowly waking Patton with him.

Roman hopped to the ground and reflexively held his hand out to help Virgil. Virgil raised an eyebrow, but Roman figured he ought to commit and didn’t retreat even as his face burned.

Virgil took the hand and stepped down. It was a moment that had nearly stepped out of Roman’s daydreams about the fairy prince.

It was a shame this night had been far more of a nightmare.

In the house, Logan guided Patton, still a little woozy, onto the couch. Roman trailed one hand across Patton’s shoulders as he passed him to help Mamaw build the fire back up – which she had apparently left half-burning when she fled the house, so the next time she called Roman reckless he  _was_  going to pitch an absolute bitch fit.

When the fire was burning to her satisfaction, she turned back to Logan and Patton on the couch, who had by now been joined by Virgil on the end farthest from Mamaw. She offered Patton a tiny bottle from her apron pocket that looked like it had once held single servings of liquor.

“Drink this,” she said, voice clipped.

“What is it?” asked Patton even as he uncorked the bottle without hesitation. He’d brought it to his mouth before she even answered.

“It’ll keep ya from havin’ any fits again,” she said. Patton wrinkled his nose and shook himself when he swallowed.

“Uck,” he said, “Vinegar,”

“What, did ya think we were drinkin’ mimosas?” she said dryly, taking the bottle back.

She stowed it back in her pocket, sitting in her chair by the fire and tapping the arms of the chair in a way that was not quite nervous but certainly not relaxed.

“The cloak,” she said.

Virgil tensed, his hands tightening on the silver garment in his lap.

“What about it?” he said, the first words he’d spoken to her since they’d stood on Patton’s lawn.

“Pass it over,” she said.

Virgil hesitated, but Patton laid one hand light on his wrist and Virgil’s hands relaxed. He relinquished it to Patton, who leaned across the coffee table and handed it to Mamaw. Roman himself sat on the arm of the couch next to Logan, watching the strange garment and wondering if it might bite them.

Mamaw unfolded it, laying it across her lap.

“What d’ya see?” she said, and something about her voice made Roman sit up straight.

“The cloak I was just holding,” said Virgil dryly.

She shook her head.

“Yer not lookin,’”

Roman realized she was using her  _teaching_  voice, which was just absurd enough that it made him want to laugh at her, if only a little bit. But he recognized the hint for what it was, leaning closer and examining the cloak.

And when he did look closer, he saw what he thought she was taking about.

“It’s in sections,” he said finally, “Look, here,

He ran his finger down the edge of the largest part, more than a quarter but not quite a third. There was a gradual shift in the weave, where it became haphazard and sloppy, and then smoothed out again.

Mamaw nodded, satisfied.

“Suicidal recklessness,” she said, “Is, unfortunately, a genetic trait,”

Roman felt himself tense but Mamaw was already moving on.

“As the story goes,” she said, “Accordin’ to my Momma, my grandmother spent about twelve years after you went to sleep tryna figure out how to wake you up,”

Virgil went absolutely rigid, and this time he didn’t relax when Patton leaned into him, even though he did lean back.

“In a last ditch effort, she went to the Serpent King and made a deal,” and this time Virgil actually made a wounded noise.

“She never actually told my Momma what she gave up, or me. But what she  _got_  was a run-a-the-mill impossible task,”

She held up the cloak.

“Gather spiderwebs,” she said, matter-of-fact, “One web at a time. Weave them into a cloak. And when she gave you the finished product, you’d wake up,”

“That… does not seem particularly impossible, Ms. Gage,” said Logan

Mamaw gave him a sharp look, opening her mouth to respond, but it was Virgil who answered.

“It is,” he rasped, “It’s completely impossible. You can only use the drag line for weaving, and if she had to get them one web at a time-”

“We’re talkin’ about the work of  _centuries_ ,” concluded Mamaw, “It wasn’t a riddle, or a trick, or a game. It was just mockery. He knew she’d die well before she even got close,”

She pointed to the haphazard section – Roman hadn’t stopped staring at it, and he might be being a little dramatic, but he could have sworn he saw flecks of blood, nearly invisible in the weave.

“Lucky for  _you_ ,” she said, directed at Virgil, “Oma and the Serpent King have somethin’ in common,”

Virgil scowled.

“What?”

Mamaw gave a wan smile.

“They underestimated my Momma,”

She moved her finger, past the sloppy section – the pattern became even and smooth again.

“Now she  _knew_  she’d die first – accepted it. Wasn’t even sure if it would work if someone besides Oma did it,”

This was apparently too much for Virgil, who bent at the waist and pressed his forehead to his knees, shaking and taking deep breaths through his teeth. Patton placed his hands on Virgil’s shoulders, and Logan – well, Logan was staring at Virgil with his face absolutely ashen.

“Not gonna do ya any good to hold it in,” Mamaw said.

“You’re not very comforting,” Virgil snarled.

“The slower I go, the worse it’ll be,” she said flatly, “Ya know that, ya just don’t like it,”

After another moment, Virgil sat up. His eyes were glassy but his face was dry.

Mamaw scrunched her face up, concentrating.

“The thing is,” she said, “I still don’t know what Oma gave the king. What I do know is that after she died, she started appearin’ around the casket, wailin’ and caryin’ on as a ghost is wont to do. I didn’t even realize it had anythin’ to do with the deal until she started to get a little…  _funny,_ ”

She pinched the bridge of her nose then.

“I-”

She cut herself off, scowling. Then she sighed.

“Remember how I said it was genetic?” she deadpanned.

They all nodded.

“Yeah, well I’m not immune to inheritin’ stupidity from Greta Fischer,” she said dryly.

Patton’s spine went ram-rod straight.

“ _Fischer?”_ he said.

Virgil’s head jerked towards Patton.

Mamaw nodded.

“Greta as in Margareta Fischer?” Patton pressed. He looked equal parts bewildered and terrified.

“Yes, why?” said Virgil.

Patton shifted, eyes darting between all of them nervously.

“She-” he started. “She’s buried in Fletcher Graveyard,”

Virgil made another muffled, pained noise.

“That the grave yer always sittin’ by?” asked Mamaw.

Patton’s eyes went wide.

“How the heck do you know  _that_?”

Mamaw’s eyes flicked inexplicably to Roman. And then she huffed, stood from her chair, and went to the window.

She clicked the latch open, pulling it up, and before she’d even opened it all the way there was a  _swoosh_  of air and Jax had alighted on the sill.

“My bird told me,” she said.

Nobody spoke for several seconds.

“I do not understand the joke,” said Logan.

“Not a joke,” Mamaw replied, “There’s just about nothin’ that goes on in Wickhills I don’t know about.  Helps when ya know someone who can fly,”

“This is ridiculous,” said Roman, “How can  _Jax_  tell you anything? He’s a  _bird_ ,”

“I can tell you a lotta things, if you open your ears and listen for once,” said Jax.

“Oh, don’t sass me you pige-”

Roman froze.

He stared.

Jax stared back, tilting his head in a distinctly mocking way.

“Dammit, Jax,”

Roman’s heart seized, recognizing the girl’s voice from the forest.

Dizzy hopped up from the ground and perched on the arm of Mamaw’s chair, looking directly at Jax.

“I wanted to tell him,” she said petulantly, and Roman’s eyebrows were probably up at his hairline, because the voice, with its barely delayed echo, had unmistakably come from his  _cat._

“Am I having a stroke?” said Roman.

“Ms. Gage?” said Logan, “You have not answered Roman’s question,”

Roman turned to look at Logan, incredulous.

“The  _animals_  are  _talking,_ and  _that’s_  what you’re concerned with at the moment?”

Logan’s expression turned alarmed.

“ _Excuse_  me?” he said, “Talking? No one is talking, least of all the _animals_ ,”

“Does ‘he can’t hear me’ ring any bells?” said Dizzy, “Any at all? Do you  _ever_  listen when I talk?”

“You  _shouldn’t be talking_!” exclaimed Roman, and he could recognize that he was becoming a little hysterical, “You’re a cat! What the fuck!”

“Roman!” admonished Patton.

“I’m not a cat,” said Dizzy. “Well. I  _am_  a cat. I’m just also other things,”

“No,” said Roman, “I refuse- this is- I call bullshit!”

“Oh,  _do_  elaborate,” said Dizzy, absently grooming her ear with one paw.

“I am drawing the line,” said Roman, “Line in the sand, do not pass go, I  _refuse_  to except the premise that my  _fucking cat_ can talk and I  _didn’t know,_ ”

“Who said you didn’t?” said Dizzy primly.

Roman flinched away.

“Jax and Desdemona are familiars,” said Mamaw, and she seemed to be addressing them all rather than just Roman.

Virgil muttered something about a dog that Roman didn’t quite catch.

“Which is convenient,” Mamaw continued, “Helps to have non-humans around. For example, if one were unable to tell mortals things directly, might help to have a go-between,”

She was looking at Logan as she made that completely nonsensical comment, but Logan didn’t seem to think it was nonsensical at all. He sat up straight, looking at Jax and Dizzy, wide-eyed.

“If ya got somethin’ you’d like to say, Logan,” Mamaw said, “Now would be the time,”

* * *

Logan looked between Ms. Gage and the animals, nearly vibrating with nerves.

“It-” he started, voice strained.

“It cannot possibly be that  _simple_ ,” he said, stunned.

“How would I even know about it otherwise?” she replied. “Less than half the people in this room are mortal,”

“You have an interesting definition of the word ‘people’,” said Logan.

Dizzy gave a quiet yowl, and whether she could actually talk or not Logan could easily interpret her distaste for that comment.

Logan clenched and unclenched his hands, staring at her. He’d been silent so long – he didn’t even know where to start.

He centered himself, trying to detach from the swirling emotions. When he spoke, his voice was even, almost clinical.

“I am forbidden from warning any mortal of danger more than three times,” he said, making certain to direct his statement exclusively at Dizzy, “And cursed that they will not believe me when I do. I am also required to attend the Full Moon revels in spite of the fact that I despise them and everyone in attendance,”

Logan could just barely see Patton’s and Virgil’s expressions out of the corner of his eye, Patton’s horrified and Virgil’s absolutely murderous. Roman was facing away from Logan but he’d gone rigid as a board.

“In addition,” he continued, and the facade was starting to crack, emotions seeping out of the breeches, into his voice, “Any magical gift or protection I offer to a mortal will be-”

His voice cracked. He cleared his throat awkwardly.

“-will be compulsively rejected,” he continued, voice just a little bit ragged.

Dizzy hopped across the space between the chair and the couch, climbing over Roman and plopping into Logan’s lap.

He hadn’t realized his hands were shaking until he reached up automatically to pet her.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

Dizzy butted her head against his hand.

“She says you’re welcome,” Roman quavered.

Dizzy turned and stared at Roman then, and whatever communication passed between them made Roman go so pale his skin nearly looked gray.

“Might as well get it out of the way,” said Ms. Gage.

“I can’t,” Roman croaked. “I  _can’t_ ,”

“The wound won’t heal til ya get the damn knife out, Roman,” Ms. Gage said sharply.

Logan ran over the conversation so far. Ms. Gage’s comments about recklessness – he thought back to the revel, where Roman had disappeared into the Serpent King’s presence and returned terrified but intact, physically unharmed. The barest skeleton of a picture began to come together in his mind.

“Roman,” he said, pressing slightly, “You promised,”

Roman lurched to his feet, shaking. He paused, then moved to the other side of the room to stand behind the back of the love seat across from the rest of the boys. A barrier, Logan realized, blatantly defensive, like he thought they might  _attack_  him. Icy dread pooled in Logan’s stomach.

“I’m the one who brought the cloak to Virgil,” said Roman, staring firmly down and refusing to make eye contact, “But… I don’t remember,”

He picked at the back of the couch.

“I-” his voice broke and he clenched his fists.

“I don’t know how to-”

Logan thought that Ms. Gage’s analogy had been apt – the next words out of Roman’s mouth did, in fact, make him look like he was tearing a knife out of his own chest.

“I’m a knight,” he said, “In the king’s court. He  _owns_  me,”

The cold feeling was spreading from Logan’s stomach to his limbs. He felt numb, even as he started shaking.

“You made a deal,” said Patton faintly. Logan could barely hear him over the roaring in his own ears.

“What was it?” he demanded.

Roman shook his head, pleading.

“What was it?” repeated Logan his voice shaking with barely contained rage, “What was it you were willing to trade your life for?”

“Seven years,” said Roman, “I didn’t mean to, I- I thought it would be off the end, I didn’t think it would make a difference-”

“ _Seven years makes a difference, Roman!_ ”

“I was  _duped!”_  shouted Roman, “I was tricked, OK, I made the deal and got fooled just like everyone  _always does!_  What do you want me to say? That I’m an idiot? That I was stupid and reckless and I  _fucked up?_ ”

“I want to know what was  _so important_!”

Patton grabbed Logan’s hand, and Logan realized that at some point he’d stood up without noticing. He couldn’t stop trembling – he felt a little lightheaded.

“What does it matter?” pleaded Roman, desperate, “Can’t you just be content knowing it  _didn’t work?_ ”

“ _CONTENT?_ ” Logan demanded, barely registering Patton’s flinch or the rattling of every window in the house, “You expect me to be somehow  _appeased_ by this information, as if there is  _any_  possible satisfactory answer that would justify such a trade? What could  _possibly_ be worth-”

“ _You!”_

It seemed that single syllable dropped to the floor like a lead ball.

Logan felt like all the air had been sucked out of his lungs.

“… me,” he said, and he meant it to be a question but his voice was utterly expressionless.

“Logan,” said Patton, squeezing Logan’s hand, restraining.

“What the hell do you mean,  _me?_ ” said Logan darkly.

Roman looked absolutely agonized.

“You… you were so  _sad_ ,” he said helplessly, “It wasn’t  _fair_ , you just- you wanted it  _so_ _much_  and I thought I could- I thought if I-”

It all clicked together, clear and stark and coldly logical.

“You got me out of Wickhills,” he said pointlessly. Roman had bargained away part of his life for Logan’s freedom – or tried to. And failed, trapping them both.

Roman nodded, miserable.

The air seemed so thick Logan thought he could feel it pressing down on his skin, like he was underwater. Patton was still restraining him, like he thought Logan might lunge, and Logan couldn’t be offended because he had not actually ruled it out.

He thought of the way Roman had looked, coming back from the audience with the king, pale and shaking and crying into Logan’s neck with expression of absolute terror and knew, now, that all of it was because of him.

None too gently, he yanked his hand out of Patton’s grip, turned on his heel and stormed out of the house.

The slamming front door behind him sounded like a firing squad.

* * *

The second the door shut behind Logan, tears spilled over Roman’s face.

Patton stood up, reaching out, but he blinked and Virgil was already across the room, hands hovering inches above Roman – he looked back at Patton, flicking his eyes to the door. The message was clear.

_You go. I have this._

Ms.Gage was moving towards the kitchen, probably to make tea or otherwise feed Roman – that was her usual go-to when people were upset. She and Patton dodged each other getting around the couch, and Patton walked out the front door.

For a second, he panicked – he had no idea where Logan would have gone. But there was no need to worry, because Logan had sat in the rocking chair on the porch, rather than flee into the gray night.

Well. Maybe not  _no_  need to worry.

Logan was bent over his own knees, hands covering his head like he was trying to shield himself from a blow. He was perfectly still – even the rocking chair wasn’t moving.

Patton didn’t try to stay quiet – the last thing he needed was to sneak up on Logan right now. He walked across the porch and sat, kneeling, in front of Logan. Logan still didn’t move.

Testing, Patton gently placed one hand on Logan’s forearm.

Logan  _did_  move, then, barely – a long exhale that made his shoulders shudder. He didn’t shake Patton off.

Patton slid his hand up to rest on top of Logan’s.  Logan’s fingers twitched, and Patton ran his thumb back and forth, soothing.

“They should have given me back,” said Logan.

Patton’s fingers froze.

Logan started shaking his head.

“They should have given me back,” he repeated, “They never should hav-”

“ _Excuse_  me?” said Patton, his own voice so absolutely  _furious_  that he barely recognized it.

“It was an objectively terrible decision to keep me,” said Logan, still not looking up, a Patton’s vision nearly whited out with his indignation,  _keep him_ , like Logan was some kind of  _stray cat_ -

“Roman’s servitude is simply the latest in a long line of catastrophes directly caused by the decision not to return me to the fae. Everyone’s lives would be easier if they had simply given me back,”

“You’re wrong,” said Patton.

“I  _can’t lie_ ,” snapped Logan.

“You can still  _be wrong_ ,”

“I am a  _literal nest parasite_  and a-”

“ _You,_ ” fumed Patton, already on the verge of tears, “Were my  _only_ friend, for  _years_ ,”

Logan mouth snapped shut.

Patton took Logan’s hands, pulling them away from the other boys head and pressing them against his heart in one of his own.

“You were the first person I  _ever met_  who wasn’t afraid of me,” he continued, “And- and Roman only even  _talked_  to me because he met you first. You’re completely wrong about  _everyone_  but if- if you can’t believe that then you have to _at least_ know that-”

The tears did spill over then, slipping down Patton’s face and splashing on their joined hands. Logan was gaping, wide-eyed.

“ _My_  life,” said Patton, “Would be  _objectively_  worse without you,”

Heedless of the wetness on his face, Patton placed his free hand on the side of Logan’s neck and pulled him down into a kiss.

Logan was still for a moment, and then he made a faint and broken noise, pulling his hands free to cup Patton’s face and press the two of them closer together. His mouth was like a zip of bright green against Patton’s.

Unfortunately, Patton’s knees were starting to ache, and when he shifted after a long moment in discomfort Logan picked up on it immediately, retreating. Patton considered pulling him right back, but, well, his knees did actually hurt.

He stood, and Logan followed him, like he couldn’t bring himself to pull his hands away from Patton just yet. Standing, Patton was just tall enough to tip his head forward and press his forehead into the crook of Logan’s neck.

“You told me a word once,” said Patton, “About- about rain? And the smell?”

“Petrichor,” Logan mumbled into Patton’s hair.

“Petrichor,” Patton repeated softly, “You always smell like petrichor,”

Logan went a little tense, but then he relaxed again, pressing his mouth to the top of Patton’s head.

“Is that… good?” he said, a little nervous.

“Yeah,” replied Patton, “Yeah, Logan. It’s good,”

* * *

They hadn’t said much, when Patton and Logan had come back into the house.

Logan had squeezed Roman’s hand, not quite forgiving, but Roman had still gone nearly boneless with relief. Logan had all but collapsed onto the couch, clearly exhausted, and Patton had tucked himself under his arm. They’d been fast asleep in minutes.

Virgil felt he’d had quite enough of sleeping. Roman had parked himself at the kitchen table and started working his way through a truly outrageous amount of coffee. Virgil wanted to scream. He wanted to march into the forest and tear his brother limb from limb. He wanted to wrap Roman up and whisper him into dreamless sleep and promise him he’d be himself the whole time.

May trotted around the kitchen, not really fretting, but certainly with a distinctly agitated bent. Virgil could barely look at her without shaking with rage.

He couldn’t seem to wrap his head around it.  _My mother’s name was Gertrude._  She didn’t look anything like Trudi, and the gymnastics his mind was doing to try and reconcile the six-year-old he carried on his shoulders with being  _anyone’s_  mother were making his head spin.

All those years – the rest of Greta’s life, nearly all of Trudi’s. They’d been taken from him – his brother had stolen them away, and Virgil would never get them back.

He looked at Roman, next to him at the table, his face pale and drawn and his hands clutched around a ceramic cup like a lifeline.

_He owns me._

No, he  _didn’t_. Not if Virgil had anything to say about it. His brother would  _not_  take anything else that was Virgil’s.

“Somehow,” said May eventually, “You’re exactly like they said you were,”

Virgil furrowed his brow, a little confused.

“I assumed for a long time they were enchanted,” she said conversationally, “Or at least rememberin’ too kindly, as folks do with the dead,”

“You forming an opinion before we’d ever even spoken isn’t exactly any better,”

Her mouth twitched.

“Be that as it may,” she replied, “I didn’t put much stock in the stories. Oma died-”

Virgil did manage to restrain his flinch this time.

“-and then she came back. I didn’t realize it had anythin’ to do with the snake, I thought it was just you. I locked you up in a neat little bubble; figured if she couldn’t get to the unfinished business she’d just pass on,”

She looked at Roman then, leveling him with a pointed stare.

“Sixteen-year-olds are pretty much universally idiots,”

Roman sank down in his chair a little, but he didn’t speak up to defend himself.

“Momma kept up with the cloak, but then she died, too. And I was of the opinion we’d lost enough to the Good Neighbors, so I stuck it in the attic and forgot about it,”

She paused, her face turning from matter-of-fact to pensive. She reached out, pushing Roman’s hair back from his face, and Roman tilted his head into it, miserable.

“Yer mama found it,” she said quietly.

Roman tensed, and May ruffled the hair gently again.

“Said we had a duty,” she said, “‘A promise is a promise,’ she told me,”

She pulled her hand back, turning again to dishes she was cleaning.

“We fought,” she said, her voice turning impassive once more, “Argued about it for years, and she locked  _me_  out of the damn clearing because she thought I’d-”

She cut herself off, casting Virgil a brief and distinctly guilty expression.

“And then Logan happened,” she continued, “And she put her foot down. Had enough of my prejudiced shit I suppose. She left, and she didn’t come back,”

Roman was watching her intently, his eyes shiny.

“Figured doing what I shoulda been doing the whole time anyway was the least I could do. Even if it wouldn’t make a difference since I still couldn’t get in,”

All the dishes were in the drying rack now, and she pulled the plug of the drain. She wiped her hands absently on her apron.

“And then ya came back from the woods one day, Roman,” she said, and this time an amused grin spread across her face, “Crowing about the prettiest boy ya ever saw,”

Roman went scarlet.

Virgil’s mouth twitched, and May looked at him askance, obviously teasing them both. Virgil’s chest  _throbbed_.

“I meant to tell ya eventually,” she said, “But then ya just  _had_  to show me up. Congratulations, yer the reignin’ champion in a long line a’ witches makin’ terrible decisions,”

“Why didn’t you  _tell me?_ ” said Roman helplessly, “I was walking around petrified,  _constantly_ , and you just-?”

She looked thoughtful for a moment, deliberating.

“Ya asked me not to,” she said finally.

Roman gaped.

“ _Why?_ ”

May shrugged.

“No clue,” she said, “Don’t why ya do much of anything at night. I can’t actually read yer mind, ya know. And ya barely talk at all,”

“ _He_  barely talks,” said Roman, pleading, “He’s not- he can’t  _really_ be me,”

His hands tightened around his cup.

“…Right?”

May ran her finger in a circle around her own cup.

“Is a shadow  _you_? Yer reflection?” she tapped her finger to the surface of her coffee, “Ripples? Echos?”

She shrugged again, looking serenely into her cup.

“Maybe he is,” she said, “Or maybe he ain’t. Maybe he’s a shadow or a reflection or just a mockery of ya the king made to amuse himself. I ain’t a philosopher – I don’t have an answer,”

“But day or night, ya never gave me the impression I oughta sleep with a knife under my pillow,”

“What a glowing commendation,” muttered Roman.

He shifted, nervous, eyes flicking between May and Virgil.

“Does he…,”

He bit his lip.

“Has he…  _said_  anything about- about the king?”

“What d’ya mean?” she asked.

“Like what he-” Roman knuckles were white on his cup, gripping so tight the surface of his drink was trembling, “…thinks. Of him,”

May looked a little bewildered, and Virgil was sure his own face was mirroring her expression – she opened her mouth to respond but before she could speak something loud and insistent broke through the relative quiet.

Someone was knocking at the front door.

“Hide,” said May quietly, “Grab Patton and Logan. Go,  _now_ ,”

Roman didn’t hesitate, moving quickly and shockingly silent. He placed both cups in the sink with barely any sound at all, and he was only a couple steps behind Virgil when they both moved to the couch.

Logan and Patton made inquisitive noises but were quickly shushed, pulled around the corner of the hallway. They crowded just behind the door of Roman’s room, and May rolled her eyes (Virgil thought she had no business being surprised they were going to eavesdrop) and made her way to the front door. It had been barely thirty seconds, but the knocking was growing downright obnoxious.

Virgil could barely see her, but he could hear her sharp, cutting voice as she opened the door, scowl ringing loud and clear.

“It is four in the damn mornin’ on a full moon, Karen Harris,”

“Whatever the hell ya want, it had better be  _good,_ ”

**Author's Note:**

> if you want to rag on my math i can show it to you but please remember i am but a humble theater kid


End file.
